


Mass seduction/Mass destruction

by Saint_Rick_The_Dick



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Ethereal Dick, F/F, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Teasing, Useless Lesbians, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2020-12-01 19:57:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 17,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20882405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saint_Rick_The_Dick/pseuds/Saint_Rick_The_Dick
Summary: My collection of Borderlands one shots. Lots of Mozara cause they're my OTP.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wherein Moze realizes she has a bit of a girlcrush on Amara…
> 
> My first foray into Moze x Amara. Just some fluff and a wee bit of angst. Slight pining. You know, all the good lesbian tropes. There will probably be more of them from me in the future cause they are precious bbies and there is just NOT. ENOUGH. CONTENT.

Following Amara’s introduction, Moze had to admit that the presence of the new Vault Hunter had made it rather difficult to focus on Lillith’s explanation of the… Whatever it was she’d been talking about at the time. 

It was Amara’s tattoos, or her biceps, that _attitude_; it all made for a very distracting package. And it wasn’t as if Moze was unaccustomed to staring down mountains of attractive muscle, quite the opposite. Her years as a soldier meant Moze had personally witnessed every grunt and flex, every bid for dominance, every overt display of physical strength and machismo the six galaxies had to offer. Yet, she discovered with Amara, it all felt a little _different_ somehow.

But whatever, none of that mattered. She had a job to do, and Moze was (technically) a professional. So, she’d put on her proverbial big girl panties, made some necessary adjustments to Iron Bear, restocked her bubblegum stash, and set off into the wilds of Pandora in search of the legendary Vault Map.

And it was Fine! Everything was Fine! Until the first time Moze watched The Tiger of Partali PhaseSlam a pack of charging Psychos into the dirt, instantly transforming the stampede of screeching madmen into a crimson cloud of blood and viscera. Then things fell into the category of Not Fine At All, because Moze had to deal with a very real and very uncomfortable truth: she had a crush. 

How long had it been? She didn’t know. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had come along and stirred up that nest of butterflies in her belly. After the suicide mission of Darzeron Bay had cost her an entire squadron, Moze had deserted the Vladof military and everyone else along with it. Her reasoning? If it was just her and Iron Bear, then she - they - would always be safe. When _you_ are all you have, there’s no one left to lose.

“Hey, Moze, you coming?” Amara’s voice; it was sharp and bright. It cut through the fog of Moze’s reverie, and carried over the low, chugging rumble of the Outrunner’s engine. 

Blinking, Moze set her jaw, nodded once. Taking a deep breath, she climbed into the Gunner’s seat and gave Amara a thumbs up.

“Let’s do this.”

Amara grinned back at her, “That’s my girl.”

And as Amara drove, steering the pair headfirst towards the next outpost, the next loot crate, and probably the next fight, Moze repeated Amara’s words to herself over and over again. The whole time wondering what they might sound like if said under very different circumstances.


	2. I Can't Turn Off What Turns Me On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They call her the Tiger of Partali, but Moze discovers Amara is a tiger in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW! Pure smut! PWP! 
> 
> CW: Teasing, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus

Space itself emits no light. Sure, there’s stars and planets dotting the inky landscape, the occasional galaxy spiraling out in a kaleidoscope of color, but the vast majority is a deep blackness, inscrutable and impenetrable. It’s why the lighting system on Sanctuary III is so robust. It’s purpose? Replicating a day/night cycle in order to keep its many citizens aligned with their circadian rhythms. Currently, it’s the middle of the night - or what passes for night since time is meaningless in space - and the bright, yellow glow of Sanctuary’s halls are dimmed to allow its inhabitants a chance to sleep in relative peace. 

Behind Moze, Amara’s warm breath puffs, faint and steady, against the Gunner’s sensitive skin. Moze sighs, shifts closer to the Siren, sinking further into the circle of those tattooed arms. Amara is surprisingly soft for someone who appears so very hard, and each time Moze finds herself in Amara’s presence - seeking sex, company, comfort - she’s pleasantly reminded of the contrast. 

Guided by ambient light, Amara traces the contours of the Gunner’s side down to her hip, grips there, pulls gently. Moze intuits the meaning, and rolls onto her back to look up at the Siren._ How beautiful she is_, Moze thinks but does not say. How beautiful and how terrifying.

“You’re not asleep,” Amara purrs. Her voice is pitched low, full of promise. She continues to run fingers along the exposed skin of Moze’s middle, igniting a warm spark of arousal. It’s then Moze realizes the threadbare camisole and panties she’s wearing constitute far too much clothing.

Moze comes back with a sly smile, reaches up to slide a thumb along Amara’s bottom lip. “Should I be?”

Amara shakes her head as her grin grows wider, wolfish. Right now, with her playful smirk and half-lidded eyes, Amara is a tiger on the hunt: hungry, eager and above all dangerous.

“Mmmm, no. Better you’re not. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Dipping down, Amara hums, presses a single, chaste kiss to the side of Moze’s mouth, and then claims it entirely. Moze moans and rises to the Siren, allowing herself to be consumed. This kiss is deep, wanton, and Moze feels the gathering slickness between her thighs, squeezes them together in search of friction.

The sweet, thrumming heat grows insistent, while Moze grows impatient. She can’t help it, and a needy little sound escapes her when Amara slips her hand down down downwards to press her rough palm to the swell of Moze’s clothed cunt. She applies pressure, and Moze bucks her hips as her pleasure blooms full. 

But Amara isn’t ready to give in, not yet, and while the pressure of Amara’s hand gradually eases, Moze finds her desire does the opposite. 

“Is this what you want?” Amara knows the answer, but she likes to hear it anyway. Even in bed, her ego demands attention.

The touch is now feather-light, maddening. Amara likes to tease. Not too much, mind, but just enough to make Moze squirm. As for Amara, there’s no urgency in her movements; she’s not in a hurry. She’s content to continue this leisurely bit of delicious torture in a bid to render Moze shaking and desperate. 

It works.

“I -” Moze chokes back a whimper as the Siren strokes her inner thighs one by one. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Do you?” Amara’s fingers dance over Moze’s panties, graze her swollen clit, and Moze whines, helpless, beneath her. “Then what’s the magic word?" 

And the soldier can take no more.

"Oh for fuck’s - ah! - _please!”_

“Good girl." 

Amara’s hand is beneath the fabric now. Her fingers circle Moze’s clit, before one then two slip down inside the slick heat of her pussy. Amara’s rewarded with another moan, this one shamelessly loud, and she grins at the spectacle. 

“Fuck yourself on my hand.”

Nodding, Moze obeys, rolls her hips, but already it’s too much. Amara feels Moze clench around her and kisses her again, filling her mouth as she fills her cunt. Moze keens, and she’s so close _so fucking close_. Amara breaks the kiss to whispers breathless encouragement into her skin, the words gentle and obscene; salacious. You’re beautiful, she tells her, so fucking beautiful, and when you come for me it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen, come for me, come for me now. 

That is her downfall. Bliss - pure, devastating and sensational - slams into Moze and she wails her climax. It’s a primal, guttural sound, and she makes no effort to temper it. Here, Amara is patient as she waits for Moze to return to herself. Slowly, she withdraws her fingers, holds her hand up to the light, smiles at the glistening slickness. Her own lust is still unsated, and it buzzes hot beneath her skin. She moves to stand and -

“Oh no, you’re not getting away that easy, Tiger.” 

Moze has a hand on the Siren’s hip, her expression absolutely devilish.

Further words are unnecessary. And when Moze lays Amara back, strips off her shorts, positions herself between her thighs, and presses her entire mouth to her cunt, control and logic, rationality, and reasoning, they all become useless in the face of fervent desire.


	3. Just For Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moze gets a little too drunk and reveals an uncomfortable truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Angst. Hurt/Comort. I headcanon pretty hard that Moze suffers from PTSD thanks to years as a soldier and the events of Darzaron.

How did she - ? What is - ? Wait.**  
**

This… This isn’t her room.

Moze blinks away the blur, closes one eye, squints with the other just to be sure and - 

Yeah. That is definitely a neon ZEN sign on the far wall, and that is most certainly a punching bag hanging from the ceiling bathed in purple light. Because _someone_ is just so fucking _extra._

And shiiiit, the world - well, ship - is kinda spinney. Moze remembers booze. Lots of booze. And Zane with his ridiculous stories. Fl4k cooing over a slag pup they smuggled aboard Sanctuary. Moxxi’s… boobs? Yes. Those.

Which just left - 

“Amaraaaa,” Moze lazily pats the bed while calling for the Siren, as if blind groping will make her magically appear. “Why am I in - this is _your_ room.”

And whadaya know, it works.

“Yes,” Amara’s voice comes from somewhere on the left. “This _is _my room. My bed is bigger _and _nicer. How you manage to sleep in that windowsill is a mystery to me.”

Moze snorts. “I, uh… Honestly, I don’t do much sleeping. When I close my eyes it’s all - all nightmares. Whole fuckton of ‘em. Ya know, from what happened…” - Moze waves a hand around halfheartedly - “Before.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and at that Moze props herself up on her elbows. Amara is sitting cross legged at the end of the bed, looking hard at the Gunner. And even though the alcohol makes it difficult to focus on her features, Moze can interpret the expression on the Siren’s face. It’s one of concern, and immense sadness.

Amara knows about Darzaron Bay. Not all the details, of course - no one but Moze is privy to that much information - but she’s aware of what Moze endured. The pain associated with that loss, it’s something the ex-Vladof soldier keeps deeply buried, and it’s something she rarely discusses. Which means this confession is one born of too much liquor, and what Amara believes is a budding sense of trust.

“Moserah,” Amara uses her full name for the first time. “I am so sorry.”

Moze feels her eyes prick, her chest constrict, nearly chokes as the taste of bile invades her throat. Suddenly, the desire to escape is overwhelming; she needs to be somewhere else, _anywhere_ else and she needs to be there _right now_. 

Moze moves to stand, but she’s still drunk, too drunk, and all she manages to do is stumble to her feet before plopping back down onto the lotus flower duvet with a soft _oof._ Amara is at her side, then, those strong hands on her shoulders, at her waist. Moze is vaguely aware of whispered words - _Stay, please stay. Don’t go. I want you to stay _\- and then she’s reaching for the Siren, wrapping her arms around her, burying her face in the crux of Amara’s neck and shoulder. Moze breathes in the scent of musk, the sweet tang of sweat, the heady aroma of exotic incense, and allows herself to be held. Allows Amara’s presence and physicality to chase away the specters of a past that can never truly be forgotten.

Heavy silence stretches out between them, the only sounds the low hum of Sanctuary’s engines and the steady, even rhythm of their shared breath.

Finally, Moze sighs, “I’ll stay, OK? I’ll stay.”

Amara nods, satisfied, but does not release the Gunner. “Good. I’d hate to have to restrain you.”

Moze can’t help it, chuckles despite herself. “Now, that’s a goddamn lie.”

“It is,” Amara admits. “But maybe we’ll save the BDSM stuff for another night, yeah?”


	4. Love Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Amara comes to terms with her growing fondness for Moze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Brief mention of sex. Otherwise, this is pure fluff and feels.

Amara is many things: brash, confident, adventurous. She’s brave, and assertive, the type to dive headfirst into danger no matter the odds or consequences. She’s been called magnificent, awe-inspiring, and once a sculptor declared her a living goddess before memorializing her likeness in marble. However, there is one thing Amara is_ not_, and that is stupid.

When Amara’s introduced to the Vault Hunter named Moze, she can almost read the message written in those big, brown eyes. Equal parts ‘I want to keep staring’ and ‘I need to _stop_ staring’, it’s a look the Siren knows well. Not that she blames the ex-Vladof soldier. After all, Amara_ is _The Tiger of Partali, and she’s perfectly aware of the effect she has on men, women, aliens; hell, even some robots. So, when it happens the pair are teamed up to head into the lawless realm of Pandora, Amara decides to take every opportunity to shamelessly flirt with the Gunner. 

While appraising Moze after a fight: “Oh, I_ like_ you.”

Following an impressive bit of impromptu demolition via Iron Bear: “You have a way with explosives; I can appreciate that.”

And when Moze blows the head off a charging Psycho at near point blank range: “_That_ was hot.”

Through all this, Amara learns Moze turns a pretty shade of pink whenever she’s paid a compliment. It’s also how the Siren discovers she rather enjoys converting Moze from a fierce, fearless Vault Hunter to a blushing, blinking, stammering girl. To her credit, Moze doesn’t take the bait, seems more than capable of keeping things purely professional despite her obvious crush. But c’mon, where’s the fun in _that_? A tiger needs to hunt, and once Amara decides she wants something, she won’t be content until she has it.

The first time they kiss, Moze has to stand on her tiptoes to reach Amara’s lips. It qualifies as one of the most adorable things the Siren has ever seen, prompts her to grab the Gunner beneath the thighs, pick her up, and plop her ass down onto the table Moze uses as a workbench. Moze opens to Amara, then, revealing fire and wonder, beauty and calamity. And when they fuck, it’s frantic and tender and _oh_ so satisfying. 

Their trysts become more frequent, less subtle, and eventually it’s commonplace to see them together rather than apart. Which is about the time Amara realizes that what started out as a mere dalliance or distraction - a conquest, even - is blossoming into something_ more._ There are emotions behind her actions now; a special kind of softness. She finds herself smiling at the Gunner in a way she hasn’t smiled at anyone in years, and she thinks that maybe, perhaps given enough time, the two of them could be - 

“Hey, Tiger.” It’s morning - or at least the concept of it - and Moze returns from Moxxi’s bearing two cups of coffee. She sits on the threadbare sofa in the Hunter’s living quarters, passes a mug to Amara who thanks her with a kiss on the cheek. 

Amara takes a sip, winces at the taste. What they consider coffee in this galaxy is little more than a travesty, but she drinks it just the same. By contrast, Moze doesn’t seem phased by the black sludge, and will down several cups a day if given the chance.

Setting hers aside, Amara turns to Moze, shakes her head. “One day, I’ll take you somewhere to get_ real_ coffee. Not this… hot garbage water. I wouldn’t be surprised if they brewed this muck with ratch droppings.”

That earns her a snort of laughter and a genuine smile. “Are you asking me on a date?” Moze’s tone is playful as she takes another drink. 

“Please,” Amara leans in, places her index finger under the Gunner’s chin, and grins. “If I wanted to take you on a date, I wouldn’t ask; I’d just fling you over my shoulder.”

Rolling her eyes, Moze swats at the hand, but they both know there's little conviction behind the slap. Amara is a merciless tease - in and out of the bedroom - and Moze appreciates the Siren's unapologetic nature. 

Moze stands, announces she’s heading to Moxxi's for a refill. Amara can't help herself, yells after the retreating Gunner, "You know you love me, baby bear." 

"Ugh! _Maybe_ I do,” Moze hoists up her middle finger without turning around. “But I still_ hate_ it when you call me that!"

And as Amara watches her walk away, eyes following the sway of those narrow hips, she sighs, wistful, and thinks that maybe 'maybe' will just have to suffice for now.


	5. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: A mission goes awry and Moze goes missing. Amara isn’t pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Some angst. Some fluff. Some silliness. Canon-divergent.
> 
> Since I wrote this one, it was brought to my attention New-U stations are NOT canon, so consider the piece canon divergent.

A splash of crimson here, a disembodied head there. All around, the Pandoran landscape is littered with the remains of Amara’s most recent victory. **  
**

“Nothing to it,” the Siren wipes the dust from her jeans, kicks the viscera from her boots. Before her lies a massive outcropping of rock, and it blocks the path as well as her view. Reaching for a spare clip, the Siren loads her Torgue shotgun, heads up and around the jutting bit of scenery only to find - 

A pile of rubble? That’s not right.

Brow furrowed, Amara consults the map on her ECHO and yep, that jumble of wood and concrete should be a building. Earlier that day, Moze pinged the location as their rendezvous point. The Gunner isn’t the type to make such a simple mistake - too many years in the military - which means either the intel is inaccurate or - 

No. Amara refuses to consider that possibility. Instead, she tries the comms.

“Moze. Come in Moze, over.” The only reply is a burst of static. 

Not good. 

The communications systems might be down, so the Siren decides to contact someone else as a test.

“Hey Lucky Charms, can you hear me?”

Zane's recognizable Irish drawl returns almost instantly, “Aye, lass. I’m here. What you needin’?”

_Shit._

“Nada. Just checking the connection. Moze isn’t responding.”

Silence, and then: “Hmmm. Sometimes the frequency goes all screwy in that big metal bastard of hers. I’m sure she’s fine. Tough as a banshee's tit, that one.”

There’s truth in that statement - Moze _is_ tough - and that knowledge keeps the Siren’s encroaching sense of urgency at bay. She tries the Gunner again.

“Moze, can you hear me? Moze, come back.” But still nothing. 

_Fuck._

As a last resort, Amara pulls the ace from her sleeve. She’s loathe to use it, but knows it’s the one thing the Gunner won’t ignore. Anyone listening will inevitably hear (and Moze will probably never forgive her for that), but Amara’s running out of options. Taking a deep breath, she engages the comms again.

“Baby bear, if you’re there, I need you to say something. I need you to say something _now._”

The high-whine buzz of empty air is the only answer she receives.

With the full force of alarm propelling her forward, Amara breaks into a sprint. She knows there’s a New-U station nearby, but if Moze had been digistructed she’d respond. The fact she isn’t means one of two things: she’s been captured, or she’s lying unconscious somewhere under the mess that was once a building. 

The closer Amara gets, the better she can discern the gruesome details. There’s blood - lots of blood - an assortment of empty shell casings, the odd Psycho mask, bits of random body parts. What the Siren doesn’t see is anything that belongs to either Moze or Iron Bear. It’s too soon to consider this a good omen - too many unknowns - but Amara refuses to let the potential for disaster cloud her judgement.

“Moze!” Amara yells as she uses her phase powers to fling aside large chunks of debris. “Moze, are you here?!”

As the Siren continues her frantic search, anger blooms dark and hot beneath the concern. If Moze has been captured, Amara vows to burn down every bandit camp, storm every Psycho hideout, annihilate every lowlife piece of trash that calls this shithole planet home. She will become rage incarnate; the very definition of ruin. She will _massacre - _

“A - Amara… Amara, is that you?” 

Her name floats over to her from across the wreckage and Amara freezes, listens. Where was it? What direction?

“Yes, Moze! It’s me! Where are you? Say something!”

A pause before: “Here! I’m over here!”

To the left! Amara vaults over a partially broken beam, kicking up dust and bits of concrete in her wake. Moze’s voice was odd, somehow flat, but it was undeniably her. Now if only all this chaff didn’t look so much alike the Siren could determine where the - 

“Down here! I’m here!”

Amara looks down, realizes she’s standing on an old, metal locker. She hops off, practically ripping the door from its hinges as she tears it open. The Siren makes a sound of relief - it’s somewhere between a sob and a laugh - since inside, and in one piece, is Moze. Amara hauls the Gunner to her feet, touches her hair and face and shoulders.

“You’re OK. Are you, OK? You’re OK.” It becomes Amara’s mantra as her brain catches up with her eyes and hands. Moze is a little worse for wear - her helmet’s missing and there’s dried blood on her forehead - but she appears otherwise uninjured.

“Slow down, Tiger.” Moze smiles, grips Amara’s forearms to still and steady her. “I’m fine. The intel we received was only partially correct; there were just waaaay more of those crazy fucks and no key fragment. I was cornered and Iron Bear was almost out of fuel, so I decided to go kamikaze. Thought for sure the explosion would take me out, too, and I’d end up at the New-U down the way, but obviously I miscalculated.”

Amara opens her mouth to respond, but a burst of static interrupts her. Zane comes through on the comms then, his voice small and tinny and full of mirth. “Lucky Charms to Princess Punch, did you find yer - “ he snorts laughter - “_Baby bear_?”

There’s a visible cringe from Amara as Moze’s eyes go wide with disbelief. “Amara, you didn’t -“

“I had to! It’s how I determined something was really wrong.”

Moze scowls, points a finger in the Siren’s face, but at the last minute appears to change her mind. Instead, she turns around, stomps off towards the nearest Catch-a-Ride while calling over her shoulder, “You are on my shitlist for the next _month!_” 

And Amara just shrugs and smiles before following after the Gunner. “Still totally worth it.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request: Imagine a DLC where it centers on the vault of time as it connects to different timelines and universes in Borderlands also one where there's evil counterparts like evil Moze (Probably orchestrated her own teammates death) evil Amara (Warlord of Partali) evil Zane (probably the same but more serious) and evil FL4K (Basically Kraven From Spiderman) with the dlc having special boss battles where said vault hunter fights there evil selves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’ll have to forgive me. I haven’t spent much time with Zane or Fl4k, so my voices for them are still developing.

The Hunters open the Vault, destroy the ancient guardian within, walk beneath the archway to collect all that sweet Eridian tech and -

Nothing. There’s nothing. Instead of sweeping architecture, overflowing loot crates, and illegible alien carvings, it’s just blackness: thick, impervious and unrelenting. The hunters try feeling around in the dark, but they can’t see their hands and arms - they can’t see _anything_. They attempt to yell, but it’s like their voice was swallowed up with the light, and any noise they make merely disappears into the void. 

It’s been minutes - or days or years, they can’t be sure - and then a tiny pinprick, the smallest speck of illumination, appears somewhere far beyond reach. All they know is it’s there now, and they all run towards it, propelled on legs they cannot see and feet they cannot feel. It gets closer, brighter, and the Vault Hunter assumes it’s an exit, a passage out of this wretched place where time and light do not exist. They’re almost there. They make out the silhouette of buildings, recognize the glare of artificial light, can hear the sounds of life. The darkness swells around them - a sleeping thing taking a deep breath - and then they’re thrust forward and_ through:_

For Amara: 

“I’m you,” the mirror image sneers. “But _better_. 

Amara shakes her head. “You? this place? They are _not_ better.”

“According to who, hmm?“ the warlord gestures to the world around her. "Why do you pander to them? Why do you let them cage you? You’re not just a tiger, you’re a _goddess_! They should worship you like they worship me! With blood and obedience.”

“Tch. Such a drama queen.” Tossing her gun to the ground, Amara cracks her knuckles, stalks closer to the thing who claims her name and face. The Siren grins, wicked, and it’s reflected right back at her. “But, you do have one thing going for you…" 

Two sets of identical fists begin to glow a violent shade of blue. 

"I’ve never met a more worthy opponent.”

For Fl4k:

“While I understand your motivations, the logical inconsistencies present in your philosophy indicate a potential corruption of your central processing unit. Therefore, you must be destroyed.”

Fl4k reaches for his rifle. 

“To put it in more colloquial terms: time to die, motherfucker.”

For Zane:

“Ayy, I’m sorry, me boyo. You’re quite the looker, I’ll give you that, but it appears you suffer from a very serious affliction known as ‘stick shoved so far up yer own arse you spit wood chips.’ No treatments, I’m afraid. Only known cure is a bullet to the brain.”

For Moze:

“You’re a _monster_!" 

"Pfff, I’m a monster for giving you exactly what you wanted?" 

"I didn’t want a massacre!" 

"Oh no forgive me, you’re right. You only wanted freedom from the fucking nightmare that is the Vladof military _by any means necessary!_ Remember that conversation, soldier?" 

"Fuck you! I would never… That isn’t what I meant and you know it.”

“Whatever. It got the job done. Now it’s just you and Iron Bear. Best friends forever and ever and ever and -" 

There’s a quiet click. 

"Bitch, after what you did,” Moze levels the loaded shotgun at her double, “You don’t deserve Iron Bear.”


	7. To Dust, I Guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amara talks about her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: More fluff and feels since y’all seem to love it. Also, it is canon that Amara was married, but the gender of her ex wasn’t revealed and I didn’t want to assume.

As much time as Moze spends in Amara's quarters, the Siren's room is practically communal property. Which is why the Gunner never knocks anymore, she merely announces herself. 

“Hey, Tiger. Whatchya doin'?”

Amara's on the bed, surrounded by a circle of half open boxes and envelopes. Her back is to the door, and when she hears Moze she doesn't bother to turn around. Instead, she waves a little plushie in the air, and then tosses it aside. It hits the ground with a small squeak. “I'm sorting fan mail. I think I’ll give that to Fl4k. It’ll make a nice chew toy.”

Moze grabs a random package, inspects it critically. “You get fan mail._ Of course_ you do.”

“Well, I _am_ a celebrity on my home planet.”

Picking up an open letter, Moze shuffles through the nine pages of prose dedicated to the beauty and wonder of Amara, only to find at the very end -

“Oooh - oh no - that’s um … Yep. That’s uhhh, that’s definitely a dick pic. That’s a penis.”

“Eh.” Amara shrugs. “I’ve seen better. They weren’t even that creative.”

With a sound of disgust, Moze drops the missive. She reaches for another gift, shakes it to see if she can guess what’s inside. “What do you do with all this stuff? Do you have a secret stash somewhere?”

“No. I usually just trash it. Though I’m not above shaming Mr. Dick-pic.” Amara turns to Moze briefly and winks. “I’ll have that redirected to his mother.”

At that, Moze chuckles and picks up a postcard, but she only gets halfway through before tossing it, too, onto the Siren’s bed. “You sure do get a lot of love letters.”

Amara's back is to her again. “I was married once. Maybe they think they can convince me to go a second round.”

Hang on, did she just say -

“You were married?”

“Mmhm. But it didn't last long. We weren’t a good fit.”

“Why?” Invested as she is, Moze sits on the bed behind Amara, begins to trace the lotus flower on the duvet with her index finger. “What happened?”

“Too needy,” the Siren complains. “My career was taking off, and I didn’t have time for someone who constantly demanded my attention.”

“Then why’d you marry ‘em?”

Amara sighs. “Same reason most people get married; I was in love. Also, my agent thought it would help boost my ratings with low polling populations.”

“Huh.” Moze chews her bottom lip. “So, was it worth it?”

“No.” Amara shakes her head. “When we separated it just caused more gossip, even though we did our best to keep it discreet. Turns out, I’m not the marrying type. But, I suppose some things you have to learn the hard way.”

Moze goes quiet, lost as she is in the jungle of her thoughts. She continues to slowly sift through the pile of unopened items, but none of it really registers. As a soldier, marriage never pinged her radar. Hell, neither did love for that matter. So to learn Amara loved someone so much she actually married them was a strange reality for the Gunner to comprehend. Maybe Moze’d just spent too much time in the military, far from the concept of “normal” life, and she was broken in a way that didn’t allow her to - 

“Hey, Moze.”

“Hmmmm?” Startled, the Gunner looks up to find Amara’s turned around. They lock eyes, and then the Siren kisses her. It’s sweet and deep, full of affection; the kind of kiss shared between lovers. Moze can’t help herself, and she melts into it, her hand seeking Amara’s thigh or waist - anything she can reach. 

The moment ends too soon, but then Amara is smiling, running her thumb along Moze’s cheek. The Siren kisses her once more, gently, and then whispers, “You’re nothing like them, and that’s a _good_ thing.”

Moze feels her entire body grow warm, lets out a soft _"Oh!_" of surprise, and then Amara is up and grabbing her arm, pulling the Gunner to her feet. 

“C’mon, I’m starving. This junk can wait till later. Let’s go get something to eat, huh?"

“Uhh - uh, yeah! Let’s do that…”

And as Moze regains her bearings, follows Amara into the halls of Sanctuary, the Gunner realizes Amara isn't quite like anyone she’s ever met before, either. And maybe that is a very good thing, indeed.


	8. And Then There's You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Gunner, an Irishman and an AI walk into a bar… Or, Moze discovers feelings are hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Angst. Jealousy. Humor. Romance. This idea came from my girlfriend. She also helped with some of the dialog. Go check out her tumblr [jenniebread](https://jenniebread.tumblr.com/) and her art on [Instagram.](https://www.instagram.com/jennie.rix/) And yes, she’ll be releasing BL3 content because she loves meeeeeee.

It’s before noon on a… whatever day it is, but time doesn’t exist in space anyway so Moze could give a damn. She rolls out of bed, throws on her boots, and heads right for Moxxi’s. Halfway there, a familiar, inner voice starts in on its usual morning tirade. It sounds suspiciously like her old Drill Sergeant, tells her she’s got better fucking things to do than pour cheap whiskey down her throat! That she needs to hitch up her britches and get her goddamn shit together! 

Is that voice right? Yup. Is she going to listen to it? Hell no. So, Moze wanders into the bar, claims a shot glass, a bottle and a back booth, and pours herself the first of many.

Entirely set on drowning her black mood in booze, the Gunner doesn’t register the presence of her fellow Vault Hunters until Zane and FL4K are standing right next to her.

“And here I was thinking_ I_ was the resident alcoholic on this ship.” Typically, Moze finds the Irishman’s sense of humor endearing, but in her current state it’s more annoyance than entertainment.

"Fuck off you geriatric leprechaun, I don’t feel like sharing.” And to prove it, Moze takes a swig directly from the bottle.

He either doesn’t hear her, or chooses not to, slides into the empty side of the booth. Zane takes in the Gunner’s demeanor and single shot glass. “Ah, drinkin’ alone. Where’s yer girlfriend? Haven’t seen her in awhile.”

“She’s _not_ my girlfriend.” Moze sniffs, crosses her arms. “…And she’s with Maya on Athenas. They’re doin’ some Siren stuff. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

Realizing he’s touched a nerve, the Operative twists the screw in a little further to test its depths. “Seems as if those two are getting a bit chummy lately, eh?”

As expected, Moze’s reaction is immediate. "What do you - ?” But she quickly corrects her tone, covering her discomfort with mock indifference. “I mean, you think I care about that?”

But it’s too little, too late.

“Course I do! Unless there’s another reason you’ve been drinking yourself stupid since Amara left.” Zane grabs the bottle, pours himself a shot, and knocks it back. “_You_, missy, are jealous. Nothing wrong with it. We’ve all fallen victim to that green eyed monster a time or two."

“I’m not jealous.”

Only, now it’s been said, the Gunner isn’t so sure. Is she jealous? Does she even have a right to be jealous? It’s not like her and Amara put a name to this thing they have going on, so if what she’s feeling is jealousy then -

“The concept of jealousy is confusing.” Aaaand now the robot is involved. _Wonderful._

Zane attempts an explanation. “It goes a lil’ something like this: the wee lass here has a crush on the big lass, and now the blue lass is poking the bear. It’s a dilemma.”

“I’m NOT jealous!” Moze shouts, as if saying it louder will somehow make it true, but neither of them are listening to her at this point, anyway.

FL4K makes a thoughtful sound. “From a purely reproductive standpoint, the combined power of two Sirens is clearly the superior pairing.”

“Ahh, you’re right there, boyo, but when one woman loves another woman it’s a sight more complicated than - “

At the word ‘love,’ Moze nearly chokes. That’s IT. She’s had enough of these bastards, and she slams her fist on the table. “FINE! _I’m _jealous and you’re both assholes. Now, can we please stop talking about this?!”

“Suit yerself mopey Moze.” Zane slides the shot glass back across to her and gets to his feet. “We’ll leave you to yer misery. But, I’ll say one more thing, you’re the only one around here who gets the googly eyes from Amara.”

“He is correct. When you are nearby, she exhibits behaviors associated with a female in the presence of her mate.”

“See? Even Beastboy over here gets it.” The Operative jerks his thumb in FL4K’s direction.

When they turn to Zane, FL4K’s green eye noticeably narrows. “I am neither beast _nor_ boy.”

Zane sighs, pats FL4K on the shoulder. “C’mon then, ya paranoid android. Let’s go rustle up some COV shites to shoot in the arse and feed to yer skags.”

FL4K follows the Operative, laughing in obvious appreciation at the suggestion. It’s a dark and resonant sound, almost human, even though Moze is aware the AI is far from it.

With the two of them gone, Moze slumps forward, buries her face in her hands. Her head is a mess. The effects of the liquor, combined with the epiphany she’s caught feelings for Amara, creates an unpleasant cocktail of uncertainty. What in the fresh fuck is she going to do now? No idea. However, one thing is for certain, regardless of whether it's love, jealousy or all of the above, that little intervention robbed her of any further desire to drink.

“Feelin’ better, sugar?“ Moxxi’s sultry drawl greets Moze when she plops onto a bar-stool.

“Yeah, I think so.” Moze passes over the mostly empty bottle and more than enough cash to cover the expense. She doesn’t ask for change, knowing the rest will eventually find its way to the infamous tip jar.

“Always a pleasure, darlin.” Moxxi motions behind the Gunner. “But I do believe you have company.”

Moze turns and there she is: the source of all her longing and frustration. She feels her chest tighten, and she’s on her feet, heading towards the Siren before she realizes what’s happening.

“Hey, Tiger.”

Amara smiles at the greeting. “There you are; I was looking for you.”

“Oh, uh… I was having a few drinks. Killing some time. How was Athenas?” Moze has a sudden need to know everything.

“Ugh. DULL. Non-violence is such a mundane philosophy. But, I did bring you a present.”

One of Amara’s ethereal hands appears between them. It’s holding a single, purple rose, and for the second time in her life, Moserah Andreyevna is rendered completely speechless.

“The monks grow them. I had to… persuade the head gardener, but he eventually agreed to let me take one. Do you like it?”

“Amara, it’s… “

The Gunner stammers, swallows the rising lump in her throat. She wants to say it’s the most gorgeous thing she’s ever seen aside from the Siren herself. She wants to tell Amara how much she missed her. So much, in fact, she spent an entire week shithouse drunk just to deal with the absence. She wants to tell her she loves her, that she’s perfect, that the universe is a more wonderful place because she’s in it. She wants to tell her _so many things_, but instead she says:

“Holy _fuck._ It’s beautiful. Thanks.” Moze takes the flower, stands on her tiptoes to kiss the Siren on the cheek. “Hey, since we’re here, can I buy a drink?”

At the question, Amara’s smile turns predatory, and she wraps her arms around Moze, pulls her flush against her. Those violet eyes are glowing ever so softly, and Moze can’t tell if it’s the booze or the proximity, but suddenly she’s very drunk.

The Siren leans in to kiss Moze’s jawline. It sends a shiver of arousal down her back, and Moze can’t stop the small, needy noise that escapes when Amara presses her mouth to the shell of her ear and whispers, “Mmm, no drinks. What you _can_ do is let me take you to bed.”

Because Moze is already drowning - in whiskey, in the moment, in Amara - she realizes she doesn’t want to be rescued. Rather, she wants to forget. Forget her confusion and uncertainty, forget all her unanswered questions, forget herself. And the person most capable of making that happen is right in front of her.

Returning Amara’s wicked grin, Moze breathes,“I can get down with that.”

Which is all the permission the Siren requires. With a laugh, Amara scoops up the Gunner, whose legs always fit around her waist just right, and carries her away to a place that exists only for them.


	9. Hit The Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request: More Mozara smut!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Teasing, light bondage, vaginal fingering, PWP

On the bed, Moze squirms, struggles against the pair of ethereal hands keeping her own set pinned above her head. She arches to the touch when Amara ghosts a pale, blue finger down the length of her sternum, between her bare breasts, past her navel. With a whine, she swears she can’t take anymore, she just _can’t,_ and will Amara _just fucking fuck her already! _But the Siren knows that’s a lie. Moze can take more, she merely lacks patience.

Amara presses a kiss to the base of the Gunner’s ribs, trails her lips to the crest of her tattooed hip and bites, softly, earning a gasp. Another kiss, even lower, and Moze keens.

But Amara _demands_. “One more time.”

“Hnng -_ fuck!_” The Gunner’s tone is petulant. 

Moze tries to squeeze her legs together, seeking friction, but she’s denied, there, too, by the third set of ethereal hands. That thick tension, the sweet, persistent warmth of her arousal, it’s devastating, undeniable. It suffuses and consumes her, makes her skin flush pink, and her nipples grow hard. 

“_Again_.” Amara reminds. “And do be polite.” 

Defiant, Moze pouts at the instruction. Amara relents, but only briefly. Using her real hand, Amara runs two fingers along the Gunner’s middle, towards the crux of her thighs. They slide over the swell of her slick cunt, slip inside that plush heat. The thumb circles her clit only to withdraw entirely a moment later and _now_ \- 

“Oh, ff–!_ Please._ _Please!”_

With a satisfied smirk, Amara delivers. It’s three fingers this time, and when she curls them inside of her, Moze begins to fall apart. Wanting _more_, Moze tries to buck up to meet the Siren’s hand, but the blue ones holding her prevent it. Amara angles just right, hits the place inside of Moze that makes her moan and clench. Does it again and again and again.

It’s too much. Moze sobs, the pressure churning, and winding. After the drawn-out teasing and delicious build, everything coalesces into a single, magnificent moment - _this_ moment - and she wants to come _oh please fuck_ let her come she needs to she_ NEEDS TO - _

Amara knows she’s close, issues one, final, explicit request: “Come for me.”

And Moze does.

Climax peaks, and then bursts; a wave that takes and buries her. Ecstasy, pure and blinding, renders her carnal and complete, while something that sounds like_ Amara_ tumbles from her lips.

Once Moze stills, Amara withdraws. The ethereal arms have disappeared, and when she lays next to the Gunner, it’s her own brown, hands that brush across that soft expanse of naked skin. 

Finally, Moze finds her words, her voice trembling along with her body. “I hate you.”

The Siren laughs; it’s rich and beautiful. Moze can’t help it, and she smiles at the sound.

“You don’t _hate _me.” Amara kisses the tip of the Gunner’s nose and winks. “You _love_ me.”

And while she won’t say it out loud, Moze admits, to herself at least, that Amara is absolutely correct.


	10. Hold My Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Gunner, an Irishman, an AI and a Siren walk into a bar… Or Part II of this [fic.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20882405/chapters/50122007)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Jealousy, Humor, Romance. Written from Zane’s POV cause he’s fun.

If you ask him to describe Eden-6 in one word, Zane can’t do it because he needs at least five. What he affectionately refers to as ‘the soggy, smelly arsehole of evolutionary rejects’ is not his_ favorite_ planet, but at least it’s not the worst. Hell, there’s_ bars _on Eden-6. Considering he’s had the displeasure of visiting solar systems where just possessing alcohol - let alone consuming it - is an executable offense, he’ll take the saurians and jabbers, thank you very much.

It’s in one such bar (minus the fire-breathing dinosaurs and shite-flinging monkeys) where he and his fellow Vault Hunters have made a pit-stop prior to heading back to the hallowed halls of Sanctuary III. He’s six beers deep, sharing a table with FL4K, and doing his best to extoll the virtues of a well-aged scotch to the awakened AI. Naturally, the Operative knows it’s a waste of time - the Beastmaster doesn’t drink anything, let alone liquor - but Zane so does love to hear himself talk.

“So you see, the longer the scotch sits in them barrels the smoother it is, till pretty soon it goes down like a - “

That’s as far as he gets. Amara interrupts him when she silently slides into the empty seat on his left. Her sudden appearance, coupled with her dour expression, is enough to telegraph the wrongness of her current predicament. 

“Ayyy, what’s the problem, Tiger? Cat got yer tongue?” Zane can’t help it, and he chuckles at his own joke.

Amara doesn’t say anything, just jerks her head in the direction of the bar where Moze is chatting up an unfamiliar young woman. Instantly, Zane notes the issue. Yes, it’s true they’re on Eden-6, and the standards of this planet are abysmally low (Full set of teeth? Marriage material!) but Zane believes even_ its_ denizens can recognize exceptional beauty.

He takes in the stranger’s long, shapely legs, slim waist and pert tits. Her smile is infectious, her clothing extravagant. She is easily one of the most dazzling women in the six galaxies, and to top if off, she’s _entirely_ pink; from the close cropped curls of her hair, to the tips of her perfectly pedicured toes. 

_“Wow._” He lets out a low sound of appreciation. “Ain’t she a looker?” 

_“Yes.“_ FL4K agrees. "Truly an exquisite specimen. It is rare to see one so far from their homeworld.”

“This is_ not _helpful.” The Siren’s tone is dark, reflective of her mood. 

“I’ll have you know I was a therapist once. It was to get close to a target, but I digress. Amara, lass._ That _\- “ Zane motions with beer bottle in hand “- Is harmless. Everyone likes attention from a pretty lady, even this bucket o’ bolts here.”

There’s a noise from FL4K, but Zane can’t determine if it’s in acceptance or annoyance. He decides it doesn’t matter, and presses on.

“The only one yonder baby bear has any _real_ interest in is _you_. She lights up like a damn Firebrand soon as ya walk in the room.”

When this observation fails to render the expected result - Amara’s spirits seem only marginally lifted - Zane turns on the false outrage.

“Fecking hell, could you two just do me the favor of confessin’ your love to each other already?! First, Moze drowns herself in whiskey while you was lollygaggin’ on Athenas, and now_ this_! It’s enough to drive a man to drink.” As if to prove his point, he does.

Zane’s not stupid; he dropped that nugget of wisdom under the assumption Moze didn’t tell Amara about the week-long bender. Aaaaany minute, and she’ll -

“Wait… Moze did_ what_ while I was gone?”

_Bingo._

“Oooh, I see she left out that little tidbit. Aye, the lass handled yer going away in the same fashion an Irishman handles a wake; with several cases of booze and a healthy dose of self-pity.”

Amara tilts her head to FL4K for confirmation. “It is true. She was rather pathetic in your absence.”

Stunned to silence, the Siren takes a long drink, blinks, then drinks again. By now, the pink woman is gone, departed with her partner (another woman, this one shorter and entirely_ blue)_, so Zane takes the opportunity to shoo Amara back to the bar. Once she’s there, Moze grins at her, puts an arm around her waist. In return, Amara drapes an arm across the Gunner’s shoulders, pulling her close. Their chemistry is instant, undeniable, and the Operative smiles to himself. 

“Ah, true love makes idjits of us all. Useless lesbians, those two. Still, I ‘ship ‘em.”

FL4K’s confusion is palpable. “My database contains over one million ships, however none of them reference either Moze or Amara. Which ‘ship’ do you mean?”

But seeing as he’s well past half-drunk, Zane can’t be arsed to explain, and he waves away the question. “Ahh, I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“I am already several decades older than you…”

“That you are, boyo, but,” he grins, points an index finger at the Beastmaster. “Are you_ wiser?”_

“Yes.” 

“Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to drink to that.”

Which is exactly what he does. 


	11. Everything You Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request: Aight aight so I got a kick out of the last smut but hey, every time I see a smut Mozara fic it’s always Amara going down on Moze. I get a little curious as to how Moze would be when giving the Siren a good time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do me a favor and go listen to God is a Woman by Rett Madison cause that song gave me a lot of inspiration for this piece.
> 
> NSFW! Pure Smut! PWP!
> 
> CW: Vaginal Fingering, mentions of cunnilingus, really just Moze and Amara being big ol’ lesbians

Amara likes to be in control. She’s good at it, revels in it. As the master of her own destiny, she holds a weighty sense of pride in the ability to steer her life in the direction she sees fit. No one - not man, alien, beast or robot - will stand in her way once she’s set on her path. But right now, Amara is_ not_ in control, because she willingly relinquished that autonomy to the woman lying next to her.

All of Amara’s barriers - the ego and attitude, the hero and celebrity persona - Moze takes great satisfaction in breaking them down one by one. The Siren’s fists bunch the bedsheets, the muscles of her well-toned arms flexing and unflexing. Like this, unfettered and recklessly wanton, she is a creature of intense and terrifying beauty. 

“I - _mmmhn_ \- !” Amara’s voice, usually so rich and sonorous, is transformed into something high and thin when she bites back her sound of bliss. Even now, with two of Moze’s fingers buried in her cunt, that perfect, salacious tension coiling and rolling, Amara struggles to retain some semblance of dominion.

“C’mon, I wanna_ hear_ you…” Moze pleads, unashamed. 

Old as she is, the Gunner has seen too much to believe in the fiction of an all powerful deity. Yet here, in this moment, she swears she can recognize the divine. It exists within and between them as they fuck: in the rapid rise and fall of Amara’s bare breasts, in the greedy way the Siren devours kisses when Moze dips down to meet her lips. More more _more MORE_. She always demands more, even when her iron will is crumbling.

Moze curls her fingers, presses the heel of her palm to Amara’s clit and the Siren throws back her head and moans. The vision is spectacular; the slender column of her neck, the thick, corded muscles of her shoulders, the dusky hue of her stiff nipples. Bathed in wan, purple light she is a satyric goddess made flesh, and Moze the vessel through which her pleasure is realized. 

So close, she’s so close, and when Moze feels Amara clench, she leans in to murmur breathlessly against the Siren’s skin. Come for me, she tells her, I want you to come for me. I need to _hear_ you, I need to_ see _you. The words and the woman, the way they fill her and fuse together, it all drives Amara’s need higher and higher and closer and closer until _oh fuck that’s - that’s - that’s - !_

Finally, release takes her. It isn’t sweet or gradual, but brutal and abrupt. It forces Amara to surrender. She does so gladly, her cries flagrant and obscene in the confines of her quarters. Moze is patient, only withdraws after Amara softens beneath her. Fingers slick, she doesn’t hesitate, sticks them in her mouth to lick them clean. This earns her a genuine laugh from the Siren.

“What?” Moze is unapologetic. “You taste good.”

“Do I?” 

“Yup. Why do you think I spend so much time with my head between your legs?”

Amara laughs again. “Probably the same reason I’d like to spend some time with my head between yours.”

“Like, right now?”

“Oh yes.” Rolling Moze onto her back, Amara grins, mischievous. _“Right now.”_


	12. Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request: How about just some Mozara fluff?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are SEVERAL pop culture references in this. Extra points if you can spot them all

“What the hell… I don’t know this song!” 

But Zane is having none of it, and he tosses the mic to Moze while the first few, tinny notes play out over the speakers. If it weren’t for the whiskey (or the tequila, or the rum) she wouldn’t even be on this stage in the first place. Yet, here she is: three quarters past shit-faced wondering which deity she pissed off to end up in such a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation.

The first and only time Moze did karaoke, she was a fresh Vladof recruit. Hot off the volunteer line, she’d spent her last night of freedom so drunk she couldn’t remember a good fifty percent of it. Still, her fellow greenies were kind enough to memorialize the occasion, a conveniently misplaced ECHO log the only record of her priceless attempts to serenade a bar at full capacity.

In the distance, Zane lets out a long_ ‘woooo!’ _of support. He’s next to Amara, whose grin is so bright it could light the six galaxies. That smile; it _does_ things to her. Moze is convinced the universe could collapse in on itself, every star exploding outwards in a kaleidoscope of cold, indifferent destruction, yet if Amara continued to smile at her just like that, then she could give a fuck about everything else. 

Much like military leadership structure, karaoke has refused to evolve over the years, so as the words on screen change from white to yellow, Moze does her best to keep up.

_“I’ve been alone with you inside my mind_… Oh fuck you, Flynt… _and in my dreams I’ve kissed your lips - “_

Zane chose this song on purpose, she’s sure of it. It’s just maudlin enough to suit his tastes while simultaneously appealing to his instinct to embarrass the absolute shit out of her.

_“Hellooo, is it me you’re looking forrrr -”_

Maybe it’s the booze or the circumstances, or her long suppressed desire to just give in and accept her fate, but Moze is suddenly overwhelmed. 

_“ - and I want to tell you so much - “_

After the disaster of Darzaron, Moze made a promise. Never again would she allow herself to form a close, emotional attachment to another living thing. Never again would she be subjected to the pain and anguish of devastating loss. She closed off her heart, put up a big sign saying DON’T OPEN - DEAD INSIDE, and did her best to pretend it was true. But then a beautiful, brash, buff woman with the confidence of a thousand shining suns came along and literally punched her way through every barrier Moze had created.

Amara: her liberator and catalyst. Despite how much she wants to tell her, Moze can’t say it, she can’t utter the three word phrase that signifies both the end and beginning of something equal parts spectacular and terrifying. But turns out, she doesn’t have to say it. She can sing it instead.

_“ - but let me start by saying, I love you -”_

And since she’s still on stage, belting out the last few lines of a cheesy ballad she didn’t know she needed, Moze can’t hear Amara when she smiles fondly and tells Zane,“You know, I think I might marry that woman one day.”


	13. Baby, I'm a Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Request: Okay so hear me out on this. Smol fanfic where Moze tries to confess her feelings for Amara but she’s a total nervous goober and Amara can tell from a mile away she likes her and asks her out :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo this came out mushier than originally anticipated, but sometimes I start writing and it just… Goes where it’s gonna go.
> 
> CW: Fluff. Feels. Some Angst. Moze and her lack of emotional intelligence.

Moze is capable of many things. A beast on the battlefield, she slaughters her enemies with impunity, crushing them with the assistance of her fifteen ton BFF and his arsenal of weapons. She’s an ace gunman, a crack shot whose just as comfortable handling an SMG as she is a rocket launcher. She will storm COV strongholds, face down hordes of Psychos, brave the wilds of Pandora with nothing more than Iron Bear and her sense of adventure. But she won’t - or can’t - tell Amara how she feels about her.

And _why_ is it so hard? Maybe it’s the Siren’s unabashed confidence, how she never questions herself, just jumps into everything headfirst. Or maybe it’s the way she laughs when the Gunner gets one up on Zane via a witty quip. It might be Amara’s beautiful, tattooed biceps, the midriff exposing her well-defined abs, the way her eyes glow the softest shade of violet when she’s -

“Hey, Moze. You alright?” Amara’s voice rips Moze from her daydream and she jumps, startled. 

Blinking, The Gunner recovers, nods in response. The bar is loud, and words feel foreign in her mouth, so she doesn’t try to speak. Besides, she’s positive she’s blushing and would merely stammer, anyway. 

Amara smiles at her silence, but it’s thoughtful, quizzical, as if she’s just come into possession of a great secret. 

Resting her chin on one hand, the Siren leans forward across the table. “You know, it’s okay if we don’t have a label for this, for _us_.”

Suddenly, the world narrows down to this single point. Her chest is tight, her head is swimming, and Moze is fairly certain she’s forgotten how to breathe. What does she say? What _can_ she say? Not the truth, that’s a level of vulnerability which is frankly terrifying.

Yet, Amara’s boldness is unshakable, and she does what Moze cannot.

Reaching over with her free hand, Amara places a finger beneath the Gunner’s chin, forcing eye contact. “I get the feeling you’d prefer if we did.”

There it is; the thing she dares not utter or admit. She can deny it, lie to herself and Amara. Risk the Siren seeing through it, through _her_. Or, she can finally, _finally_ be honest. Moze chooses the latter.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good! Then it’s settled!” Getting to her feet, Amara knocks her empty beer bottle against her girlfriend’s. “You need another drink. I’ll be right back.”

And she’ll be right here.


	14. User Error

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Request: Reader/Fl4k NSFW request? I'll leave the kink to you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FL4K has no undercarriage so I went with what's available lol. Also, I tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible since anon did not specify if they wanted fem or male reader.
> 
> CW: NSFW. FL4K/Gender neutral reader. Humor. Sexual penetration.

Since FL4K is incapable of experiencing physical pain or pleasure, the concepts are foreign to them. So, when the awakened AI comes to you proposing an experiment to investigate the effects, you’re willing to participate if it means furthering their education, and your own curiosity.

“How does this feel?” The monotone voice belies their true interest.

You arch off the bed, suck air through your teeth. _Right there_. If they could just keep - keep doing that -

“It would be far more beneficial if you would articulate a response.”

God_damn _this robot. Words are hard to come by when they insist on applying steady pressure to the one place inside you that makes you gasp and writhe. Briefly, you lament that FL4K is unable to share your bliss, but the memory of the selfish lovers who came before them - coupled with their fingers going deliciously deeper - drive those thoughts away. For now, you can only concentrate on this.

But still, you attempt to please them. “It.. It feels like every part of me is connected to - to what you’re doing. It feels _so _good.”

“Hm.” The sound is almost clinical in its thoughtfulness. “Human genitalia is comprised of several thousand nerve endings, and the human body has many extraneous erogenous zones which serve no purpose other than to illicit a pleasure response.”

Oh, for _fuck’s _sake. They _really _need to expand their library on dirty talk if this is going to become a common occurrence.

“FL4K. Please don’t use words like ‘genitalia’ and ‘erogenous zone’ when you’re between my legs.” Especially considering neither feel very extraneous given the circumstances. 

They issue an apology, but it’s drowned out by your licentious moan. Not for the first time, you wish FL4K had a mouth to kiss, or hair to grab, but then, that would change what they are. And you’re self-aware enough to recognize your attraction to them isn’t based on what they lack, but what they have, instead.

Eyes closed, lips parted, you’re rolling your hips, riding a wave of prurient sensation when, once again, they interrupt. “My sensors indicate you are nearing orgasm.”

Part of you wants to snap _shut up!_ while the other part wants to put on a spectacularly vulgar display, but the only thing you manage is a breathless, “Astute observation!”

The sweet, aching tension between your thighs builds and builds, climax looming closer with every movement of FL4K’s deft fingers. You feel yourself clench. It’s intense, sublime, a pinpoint that straddles the line between pain and pleasure; almost too much yet still not enough. Until FL4K finds it, that secret place, and they beckon one, two, three times and then again and again _and - !_

Release takes you in a flood of euphoria, and you’re lost in its tide. Distantly, you’re aware of FL4K’s keen attention - how they’re studying, cataloging your reactions - but your immediate concern isn’t with them. Gradually, you subside, and coherence settles back into place. When FL4K withdraws, they wiggle their fingers, inspecting the viscous combination of lube and bodily fluids.

“Humans are disgusting -” you groan in the background “ - But, so are many things in nature, and I accept them as they are. Just like I accept you.”

“I…” You pause, uncertain how to react to the back-handed compliment. Ah, well. Best to just be gracious. “Thanks, FL4K.” 

“You’re welcome.”


	15. Heat Sink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request: Loved your Fl4k snippet. Could I ask a what if? What if there was a way to install 'hardware' and the software to feel pleasure and they wanted to share it with a female reader?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW FL4K/Fem!Reader. Sex Toys. Oral sex. Sexual Penetration. Humor. 
> 
> Also there’s a few Rick and Morty references in here, but only if you know what you’re looking for lol.

“So, does this thing heat up or - ?” You roll the smooth, metal phallus between your palms, hoping to impart some of your warmth. It’s long, dreadfully cold, and the idea of it penetrating you is… Unpleasant.****

As usual, comfort isn’t FL4K’s concern. “I’m uncertain why that would matter, but yes. Once installed, it will connect directly with my power core and ‘heat up.’”

They pass you the instruction booklet for the Robo-Companion XP20SS and you flip through it, note the numerous warnings. One seems particularly disturbing.

“It says here ‘improper usage is greatly discouraged, as it may result in electrocution and/or death for all participants. Attachment should be sheathed at all times.’ _Sheathed?_” 

But FL4K has an answer for that, too. “There is a silicone covering in the box.”

Sure enough, they’re correct. It fits snugly over the phallus, meaning it now looks more like a proper dick and less like discarded machinery.

FL4K asks where you want it, and your mind soars to indecent heights. Your face grows warm as you frantically search for the words to explain exactly what you’re seeking, but then you realize they’re referring to placement. 

“Um. Where it would normally be?”

The AI narrows their single eye. Uh-oh. You know that look. “Depending on species, the reproductive organs can be located in several different - “

“OK! OK!” You hand them the XP20SS. “I don’t need an intergalactic anatomy lesson. Just attach it in the same place as the average human guy.”

They nod, take a moment to shuck their jacket and pants, revealing the skeletal frame underneath. Without the bulky clothing, it strikes you just how _alien_ FL4K appears. You’ve seen them like this before, of course, but it never ceases to elicit a reaction. Is it wonder? Fear? Lust? Or some combination of all three?

Shame isn’t in FL4K’s repertoire, so as they go about the process of plugging in the hardware, you watch, fascinated. Part of the allure of this particular model was that it came with software which allowed FL4K to ‘feel.’ As the AI lacks nerve endings, they’ve never experienced a sensation akin to pleasure. So, the whole experiment appealed to them on the premise of broadening their knowledge.

“According to my data, all components are correctly installed and ready for use.” They appraise their new appendage. “Human male anatomy is absurd. Having one’s genitals hanging outside the body puts one at a distinct physical disadvantage.”

Considering how many times you’ve kicked a dude in the balls, you admit FL4K is right. However, at the moment your concern isn’t morphology, but geometry. There is an impressive height difference between you two, which could result in some complications. 

Suddenly, you have an idea. “Can you sit on the bed?” 

They do, and you position yourself on your knees between their legs. Looking up, you ask, “It’s on, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me if you feel this.” And you lick a stripe up the length of the shaft. 

FL4K issues a thoughtful sound, one you know means they’re processing new information. “It is… Damp. Warm. Not unpleasant.”

Well, that’s a start. You try another approach. Taking the head of the robotic cock into your mouth, you swirl your tongue around once, twice, before releasing it with a pop. This time, the response is different.

“That was exhilarating!”

This little bit of encouragement, coupled with the growing heat of your arousal, is all you require. Returning to the tip, you swallow it, then relax your jaw and dive down to take in more. With your mouth full, you can’t ask how it feels or if they like it, but as you find your rhythm, your need continues to build. You can feel the gathering wet between your thighs, that familiar urge to be filled and fucked.

“Stop.” 

Cheeks flushed, you obey, glance at the AI. “What’s wrong?”

“While enjoyable, this serves no purpose.”

How the hell do you explain foreplay to a robot? Getting to your feet, you wipe the saliva from your face, strip off your shoes and pants. You_ crave_ friction, anything to ease the sweet ache, and when the cool air hits your bare cunt you shiver. 

This isn’t the first time FL4K’s seen you nude, but as usual, they’re observant, curious. “Your current pheromone output is elevated, and your genitals are engorged. You’re prepared for penetration.”

You stop yourself mid-cringe, nod instead. Dirty talk. They _really_ need to work on that dirty talk. 

“I’m going to straddle your hips, OK? Stay where you are.”

Once again they comply, and you climb into their lap, position the head of the cock at your slick entrance and slowly, slowly, lower yourself down. It’s still covered in spit, and that, combined with your own wetness, means it takes very little to seat it inside you. At the sensation of fullness you shudder and sigh, but stay still. You’re waiting for FL4K, for their reaction. 

“It is…” They pause. “Tight. Moist. Very warm. Like a hot glove.”

“Is that bad?”

“No. Though my sensors are simultaneously processing several thousand points of stimuli, when they all combine this feels… Good. Very good. Continue.”

At that, you grip FL4K’s shoulders for balance, roll your hips. FL4K was right: the dick _did_ heat up, and it’s thick and long and absolutely fucking perfect. You close your eyes, grind your clit against the base, moan loud and flagrant at the bright spark of bliss. You do it again and again, reveling in the delicious way your body - 

“You’re enjoying yourself.”

Their voice brings you back to the moment, and your eyes fly open to find FL4K studying you. 

Self conscious, you pause. “I… Yeah. You should be, too. If not, we’ll quit.”

“Not necessary. This experience is illuminating. Now I understand why humans spend so much time and energy attempting to initiate intercourse.”

Which you’re pretty sure is just FL4K’s way of saying ‘it feels good, don’t stop.’ And that makes you wonder…

“Can you have an orgasm with this thing?”

“Undetermined. Ejaculation is not physically possible, but there may be a data overload equivalent.”

‘Data overload equivalent?’ You’ll need to remember that the next time you’re about to come. 

Gradually, you build back up to your previous pace, small, breathy whimpers falling from your mouth. Thus far, you’d maintained a respectable amount of distance between you, but the thrumming pulse of your desire, they way they fill your cunt just right, it’s too much, overwhelming, and you press against the AI, throw your arms around their neck. Throughout this endeavor, FL4K hasn’t provided any overt displays of physical affection, but when you cling to them, they wrap their arms around your middle to keep you steady. 

You know you’re close, and you buck your hips to hit the tiny little bundle of nerves inside you; do it again and again and again. Well past the point of modesty, you curse and gasp while you work towards release, that prurient tension winding tighter and tighter.

FL4K attempts to state the obvious. “You’re almost - “ 

But you interrupt. “_Yes!_ Fuck yes, I am! _Oh, fuck - !“_

There’s that tightrope; the one you so carefully totter the moment before climax. You balance and balance, pleasure bleeding to pain bleeding to pleasure, until at last ecstasy consumes you and you tumble fully into the abyss. FL4K holds you through it, waits for the ebb and flow of your orgasm to pass. You pull back, dazed and breathless, to find their impassive face inches from yours.

Realizing your selfishness, you question them. “Did you uh… Reach data overload equivalent?”

“No. But, you did. Which, according to the book _One Thousand and One Ways to Please Your Ape Species Descended Partner_ is the important part.”

You can’t recall FL4K recently reading anything, let alone a book with that title. “Wait, when did you read this?”

“Just now.”

“You mean while we were - “

“Yes.”

You sigh. Well, at least you can’t accuse them of being thoughtless.


	16. Hypnotiq

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request: Mozara NSFW where Moze tries hypnotism?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t exactly what anon asked for, as I went with a guided meditation approach instead of hypnosis. IMO, Moze isn’t the type of person who can be hypnotized, since that requires a level of psychological willingness Moze lacks. 
> 
> CW: NSFW Mozara. Explicit mention of vaginal fingering. Allusions to cunnilingus. Lots of humor.

Across from Moze, in a perfectly poised lotus position, Amara sing-songs_ ‘close your eyes,’_ and Moze frowns. “How the hell did you - ?“

But Amara just shushes her. “Old Siren technique. _Very_ ancient.”

Moze obeys, squeezes her eyes shut. This is hard. And stupid. And _hard._ Who knew quietly sitting still was so goddamn difficult? There’s a million other things she could be doing right now. Iron Bear’s chassis needs some reconditioning. His rail gun was acting up last week, so she’s gotta run diagnostics to fix it. Marcus re-stocked the vending machine yesterday, and there’s a Torgue SMG with her name on it if only - 

_“Moze.”_ Amara’s tone is the same one she reserves for Ava’s particular brand of obstinance. “I can hear you fidgeting.”

“I haven’t moved!”

“Not _physically.”_

Oh, for fuck’s sake! Moze loves Amara more than all the guns and loot in the six galaxies. She’d kill for her, _die_ for her, practically worships the woman as a goddess. But she can_not_ do this.

Issuing a melodramatic sigh, Moze falls backwards onto the bed. “I’m sorry, Tiger, but the whole ‘serenity now’ thing is just not my scene.”

When Amara touches her knee, Moze props up on her elbows. The Siren’s smiling. “Let’s try something different. I’ll guide you this time, alright?”

“I don’t know…”

But then Amara gives her _the look_. “Please? For _me?”_

And how can Moze say no to that? 

Nodding, the Gunner sits up, re-positions herself. She closes her eyes. “Last time. For you.”

She hears Amara settle, satisfied. “Ok. Now, deep breath in. Let it out slowly. _Good_. I need you to imagine that you and I have a golden ball.”

Gold ball. Got it. 

“We’re holding it, and the ball is glowing. Every time we breathe in it gets brighter. When we breathe out, it dims. Focus on your breath. Steady it. Watch the way the light pulses with - “

Only, Moze can’t do that because all this talk of breathing has brought to mind Amara’s tits; the way they look when Moze is above her, two fingers buried in the Siren’s cunt. The rapid rise and fall of her chest, how Amara moans and gasps when Moze presses her palm to her clit and -

“ - we’re going to take the ball, and lift it together - “

\- really, is it her fault her girlfriend’s so damn hot? Just last night, Amara did this thing with her tongue and Moze is pretty sure her soul left her body for a few seconds because she - 

“ - big breath in. On the exhale, we’re going to release the ball - “

\- grabbed for one of her ethereal arms. And ugh her _arms_. Moze loves Amara’s arms. The way the muscles flow beneath the skin when she’s lifting weights, how her biceps flex when she punches something - or better yet, some_one. _When Amara picks her up as if she weighs nothing and _fuck _it’s - 

“Moze. _Moze._ _Moserah!”_

Wait, did Amara just say her name? Shit shit _shit focus FOCUS -_

Frantic, the Gunner’s eyes fly open. “Yes! What! What is it? Ball, right? Something about a uh. A ball.” 

At that, Amara raises an eyebrow. Moze knows_ this _look, too, though she’s rarely the recipient. “You weren’t listening, were you?”

She can tell Amara’s disappointed, and has enough decency to sound sheepish. “Uhhhh. No.”

With a sigh, Amara shimmies off the bed. “What were you thinking about.”

And Moze figures it’s best to tell the truth. “You. Me. Us. Sex. Your arms. How hot it is when you hit things. How I’m lucky -” 

“Stop.” The Siren holds up her hand, and Moze goes quiet. “You are stubborn, impatient. Distractible. Occasionally frustrating- ” but then she shakes her head “- and you’re also perfect, and I adore you.”

Leaning down, Amara grabs Moze by the arm, hauls her to feet. “C’mon. Let’s go get that new SMG from Marcus. I’m sure we can find a few bandits to use as target practice.”

It takes a moment to register, but once it does, Moze admits her confusion. “W-wait, you knew I wanted that gun?”

_“Please.”_ Amara rolls her eyes. “I know what you like. For instance, that thing I did last night with my tongue? I could do that again, you know.”

Which manages to confuse Moze further. ”But, how did - “

However, rather than answer, Amara just winks at her and says sweetly, “Old Siren technique. _Very_ ancient.”


	17. Dial Tone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Request: Can I request some Zane/F!Reader nsfw with some dirty talking? Thank yooouuuu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll admit I took this request somewhat literally… but I had fun doing it.
> 
> CW: NSFW Zane/Fem!Reader. Dirty talk. Masturbation. Explicit mentions of vaginal sex

_“Hey doll, ya there?”_

_“C’mon, babycakes. Pick up! I need ya.”_

_“I’m gonna start singin! And I know how much ya looove when - “_

You_ were_ sleeping, so it’s with a groan you hold down the reply button on your ECHO. If you don’t answer, Zane won’t_ shut up_, so it’s best to see what he wants. 

“This better be good, Lucky Charms.”

“Aahhh, that’s me girl! I knew you’d come through!”

Yawning, you squint at your bedside clock. “I gotta be up at 0600 to run routine maintenance on the entropy accelerator, so if you could - “

A strangely familiar noise comes across the speaker, and it stops you mid-sentence. Is he… _No. _He can’t be. And yet, you have to be sure.

“Flynt, are you_ jerking off?”_

He laughs. It’s a low sound, lewd and husky. “Aye. And I’m thinking about yer tits. The way they bounce when I fuck ya reeeeal hard.”

Simultaneously, you gasp and your cheeks grow warm. That lecherous old bastard! He always knows just what to say to get a reaction. Part of you - the reasonable, rational part - tells you to disconnect. Zane doesn’t do half-measures, and if he discovers a little dirty talk is all he needs to hold your attention he’ll take full advantage. However, the other part of you? The part that wants to know more? That’s the part that wins. 

You shift around to get comfortable, and engage the comms. “Anything else on your mind?”

He laughs again, this time in triumph. “Can’t resist me? Don’t blame ya. I’m a handsome devil.”

It’s a travesty he can’t see you roll your eyes, but you know he’d continue regardless.

There’s a muffled groan from your ECHO. “I’m thinkin’ about that sweet cunt of yers, how it looks when yer takin’ my cock. _Hnng,_ you’re so damn pretty on yer back all spread out for me. I can see _everythin’.”_

A surge of arousal blooms sharp and insistent, settles low between your thighs. _Ugh._ You_ love_ it when he fucks you like that and he knows it. You move your free hand down past the edge of the blanket, slip it beneath the hem of your panties to circle your clit. Curious to see how far he’ll go, you egg him on.

“So, you like fucking my tight, little, pink pussy, huh?”

That earns you a dark chuckle. “Damn right I do, princess. Love watching you take my dick. Listenin’ to all those sounds you make and - _nnnf _\- how yer pussy is always so wet fer me. Are ye wet now?”

Like he doesn’t know the answer. But still, you humor him. “Mhm, _soaked.”_

“Thaaaat’s what I like to hear. Fuck yerself. Tell me what yer thinkin.’”

Happy to oblige, you slide one then two fingers into your slick cunt, whimper on the exhale. Zane moans in return.

“Talk to me, baby.”

You close your eyes. 

“I wanna hold my legs open so you can watch yourself fuck me and -_ ah! _\- watch me be your little slut.”

_“Ooh, gods yes. _That - that’s nice. Keep goin’.”

“It feels so good when you fuck me hard. I love taking your cock and - “ 

Suddenly, from his end, you hear the creak of rusty door hinges and a well-known voice; one you recognize as Moze. “Hey, who’s - Flynt? Oh!_ Oh,_ what the _fuck_, dude?!”

And in true Zane fashion, he’s entirely unapologetic. “Ahhh, c’mon! Ya act like ya never seen a man polishin’ his knob before!”

“God_damnit!_ Get out of the bathroom! I gotta _pee!”_

“Five more minutes, lass!”

Moze curses, the door slams, and then silence. Annoyed, unsatisfied, and now uninterested, you pull your hand from your panties. The bathroom? He couldn’t think of a better place? For someone with the capacity to be so clever, the man really was an idiot.

Hoping to recover, Zane turns on the charm. “Sooo, you were sayin’ something about - “

But you’re having none of it. _“Nope._ I’m done. Go to bed, Flynt.”

“No-no-no! I was so close! I’ll get blue balls - !“

_Click._

Serves him right. Dumbass.


	18. Regularly Scheduled Programming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Request: Ok what about echonet and chill with Mozara 👀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this fic, I’m treating the ECHONet like a Netflix/cable hybrid.
> 
> CW: Mostly SFW Mozara. Mentions of oral sex. Humor.

Within the sanctity of Amara’s private quarters, tucked into the tiny bunk by the window, Moze channel surfs, half-hearted. “No. No. _No_. Not that one. Ugh, sounds cheesy. Nah. Nope. Oh, wait maybe…" 

_‘This sci-fi rom-com features two amateur, female bounty hunters who team up to traverse the six galaxies! An interstellar journey of personal discovery, **That’s Space, Babe! **explores the boundaries of life, love and loot.’_

Since she’s resting against the Siren, Moze looks over her shoulder to consult Amara. “Whadya think?” 

And Amara hums, nuzzles into her neck. “Fine with me.”

Not like it really matters. Both know they’ll only get a quarter of the way into the flick before they’re more invested in each other than what’s on the screen. Already, Moze is tempted to turn around, run her hands up Amara’s thighs, peel off those ripped jeans, and press her mouth to - 

Amara kisses the sensitive spot behind the Gunner’s ear, derailing some thoughts in favor of others. Moze shivers; she’s about to say ‘fuck the movie, and then me, too,’ but doesn’t make it that far.

The_ whoosh _of the cabin door announces Zane’s presence. “Ayyy, what’re we watchin’?”

At the interruption, Amara growls, “I _know_ that waslocked_._”

However, the Operative feigns ignorance. “Eh? What? Sorry, me hearin’ ain’t what it used to be.” 

Despite multiple objections, Zane plops down on the floor next to the bunk, pulls out a bag of something crunchy. Shoving a few of the small, brown morsels into his mouth, he points at the screen. “Oooh, I’ve seen this one. It’s a goodun.” 

As much as she wants to deny it, Moze is suddenly intrigued. “Hey, what’re you eating?”

“Triple fried varkid poppers.” Zane offers them up. “Go on. I know ya wanna.”

_“Ugh.” _Amara’s disgust is palpable. “The garbage you two eat.” 

But Moze won’t be deterred. _Triple_ fried? She’s never had those. How does Zane always get the good snacks? She tosses back a few and her eyes light up. 

“Oh, shit. These’re awesome!”

“Have a couple extra packs stashed away.” He hands her the bag. “I’ll swap ‘em fer some of those rakk bone gummies ya got.”

“Hell yeah, dude.”

Now repulsed _and _annoyed, Amara chastises the pair. “Could you make junk food deals elsewhere? I’m actually watching this.”

“Try one.” Moze shakes them under Amara’s nose. “They’re tasty.”

“If it means you’ll both be quiet.” The Siren takes two, inspects them critically, pops them into her mouth. She chews, slow and thoughtful, swallows, then grabs the bag from Moze. “This is mine now. Flynt, go get the others.”

Zane attempts to protest, but Amara silences him with an ethereal hand. “My room. My rules.”

Standing, he relents. “Fiiiine. I’ll be back. Pause the movie!”

Once he’s gone, Amara passes the now half-empty bag to Moze, kisses her bare shoulder. “This is how you know I love you; I’ll share my food.”

Smiling, Moze grabs another handful. “You love me, huh?” 

“You know I do.” 

Yeah, she does. Which is why she turns to her girlfriend, kisses her full on the mouth, and whispers. “These are pretty good, but I’d rather eat your pussy.”

And when Amara grins, it’s sly, playful, and positively indecent. “Then you should go lock the door._ Now.”_


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Request: Moze or Amara. Who has the better booty?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just imagine the Vault Hunter's in a confession booth for this one. That's what I did, anyway.

Amara: “Moze. Her butt is literally heart shaped. It’s incredible. Now, if we’re comparing abs, or biceps, or -”

Moze: “My ass is superior, but Amara’s fucking perfect. Like, all of her. _Perfect._”

Zane: “Why wasn’t I included in this list?! Have you seen my arse? It’s _glorious!”_

FL4K: “The human female posterior serves no other evolutionary purpose than to attract a suitable mate. Moze and Amara have established their bond, therefore the debate is already settled. The answer is both; both have acceptable ‘booties.’”


	20. Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Request: I’ve always wanted to write a short fic myself where one character is brainwashed by the bad guys (or something), but they’re brought back because of their loved one... but you’re the better writer. Could you do a little thing like that, where Amara’s been brainwashed by the COV, but Moze brings her back? (I know you’d probably have it the other way around, but I like the idea of Moze having to do something her GF is usually suited for.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Lots of feels and angst.

Moze hates waiting. As a child, she was frequently admonished thanks to her inability to sit still and be quiet. When she was older, obstinance wasn’t rewarded; drill sergeants doled out harsher punishments than parents. Yet, the frenetic pace of military life meant adrenaline injections were consistent, and boredom a rare occurrence. It’s why vault hunting appealed to her: no real down time, no monotony, no stagnation. Pandora is a constant carousel of adventure and excitement. Except for right now, when the Gunner is forced to employ patience she does not possess.****

‘Stay back,’ they tell her. ‘She’s dangerous,’ they say. ‘That’s not the Amara you remember,’ they warn. 

Well, they can go_ fuck_ themselves.

The Tiger of Partali is literally chained to a bed in the infirmary. Medically induced coma is the term Tannis used. Like this - calm, peaceful - it’s easy to pretend Amara’s sleeping off a particularly brutal battle. But Moze understands the truth: the Amara she knows may be gone forever. Standing there, listening to the steady beep-beep-beep of Amara’s heart monitor, Moze makes a decision. Slowly, carefully, she climbs onto the gurney, curls up next to the Siren, rests her head against her shoulder. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the familiar mix of sweat and musk, the hint of exotic incense; all things she’s come to associate with Amara.

“Hey, Tiger.” Her voice is a reflection of herself: shaky and hollow. “I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you’re even _you_ anymore.”

Silence. Crying won’t solve anything, so she wills away the tears, swallows the lump in her throat. Moze is adept at one sided conversations. After all, she’s talked to Iron Bear for years.

“So get this shit, they made me stay here while they freed you. Zane said I’d be a liability. That I could fuck up the whole mission.”

Zane’s exact words were: “If she kills ya, she’ll never forgive herself.”

Unwilling to sit around and do nothing, Moze pushed back. “You think she won’t care if she kills _you?!”_

“Lass, she’s not in love with _me._”

How could she argue with that? So, she remained on Sanctuary, whiling away the wretched hours until her fellow Vault Hunters returned with an unconscious Amara in tow.

Tracing the contours of the Siren’s tattoos, Moze smiles. “You know, FL4K said they used a bullymong tranq to knock you out ‘cause nothing else was working? You really are a tiger.”

_Her_ Tiger. 

With that revelation comes a flood of memories: their first meeting, their first kiss, the first time Amara got between her legs and made Moze cry out her name. Again, the tears threaten, and the Gunner doesn’t know how much longer she can resist. Closing her eyes, her hands become fists. 

“At Darzaron, everyone who mattered to me… Just, _boom._ Gone. Fucking _destroyed_. All of them. And it kinda destroyed me, too.” Her voice cracks. “But then, uh, I met you… and you made it - you made _everything_ \- pretty okay again.”

Are memories all she has left? If what’s been done to Amara can’t be undone, if the Siren is truly lost -

No. Moze won’t consider that possibility. There is only one way forward.

Pressing her lips to the shell of Amara’s ear, Moze desperately whispers. “I _need _you. I need you to come back to me._ Please.”_

Tenderly, reverently, Moze kisses the Siren’s cheek. A silent _I love you_, it’s a gesture she knows Amara - the _real _Amara - would understand.

It’s not until Moze is back in her private quarters that a soft voice invades her mind. Instantly, she knows who it belongs to, where it came from. And that voice gives her hope.

_I will, Moserah. I will._


	21. Celebrity Status

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Request: If your still doing mozara stuff maybe a fic about Amara finally showing her fans her new gf moze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally SFW Mozara. Fluff and feels and humor.

“I don’t know about this, Tiger. It’s not really my thing.”

Moze shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, adjusts the collar on her leather jacket, tugs on her helmet, only to have Amara pluck it from her head.

“Hey!”

But the Siren tosses it out of reach. “They can’t see your face!”

“Yeah, well now they can see my helmet hair instead!”

Despite donning her best military grade scowl, Moze knows arguing with Amara is damn near pointless. In the end, the woman always gets what she wants, and nothing Moze does will persuade her otherwise.

Running fingers through her choppy locks, the Gunner organizes the mess into something appropriate. And it’s just in time, too, because Amara’s agent is telling them they’re about to go live. He’s a squirrelly man with dark hair and dark eyes, and Moze can tell Amara makes him nervous. 

“And we are live in five, four - “ he silently pantomimes the ‘three, two, one.’

While Moze stands there delivering a perfect ‘deer in the headlights’ expression, Amara _transforms_. The Siren_ is_ the Tiger of Partali, but also _not._ A persona in and of itself, The Tiger is a facet of Amara’s personality that comes and goes at will. Moze has seen it happen before, of course, has witnessed her switch this feature on or off at her discretion. 

Right now, she is very much ‘on.’

Amara smiles brightly, offers a two fingered wave. “I know what you’re all thinking: Where has she been?! Well, I’m here to say the Tiger is _back,_ and I have so much news! But first, I want to say ‘thank you’ to my fans. I’ve received all of your gifts and letters, and in return each of you will get a personally autographed portrait photo along with - ” 

Most of this charade is scripted, so Moze doesn’t come in till after Amara’s finished playing catch-up. When they met, Moze was ignorant of Amara’s celebrity status. She’d never heard of Partali, and since she wasn’t the type to keep up with gossip, the whole ‘hero of the people’ shtick was lost on her. However, Zane instantly recognized the Tiger, and made it a point to announce they were conversing with a bonafide superstar. Not like it mattered to Moze; she was smitten the moment the Siren came into view. Amara could be the nothing tiger of nowhere, and Moze would have fallen just as hard.

The shot zooms wide, and that’s the cue: Amara wraps an arm around Moze to pull her close. Instinctively, Moze leans into the hug, reaches across to rest her hand at Amara’s hip.

“Lastly, I am thrilled to introduce my girlfriend, Moserah. _She_ is the real treasure. For me, love has always been elusive, so I hope you will share in my newfound happiness and - ”

Wait, her treasure? _That _wasn’t in the script. Moze smiles up at Amara, who stops talking just long enough to kiss her forehead. 

“That’s all for now! I’ll be livestreaming a weekly update, so make sure to subscribe. And please, keep sending in your messages and letters. I read every single one. Till next time!”

“Aaaaand cut!” Amara’s agent gives the signal. 

Amara kisses Moze again - on the lips, this time - and extracts herself. “How’re the numbers? Are we trending?”

“Yes! Yep. We’re doing - we’re doing_ great. _New subscribers by the _second._ Lots of comments. Lots of feedback!”

She reaches for the ECHO. “Give it to me. Let me see.”

_**Tigersnumberone1:** Yes! She’s baaaaack! We missed you, Tiger!_

_**XxjjordannxX:** You look buffer! What’s your workout routine?_

_**Sexyrexy849:** Love those arms omg_

_**PollarPops: **How’s pandora?_

_**walkitoutmeep:** Do you think you’ll do another tour? _

_**Lesgohunting2gether:** You’re so hot amara!_

_**sup_dell44:** Wait who is THAT bitch??_

_**Zawaruldo:** Awww, she’s got a girlfriend! SO SWEET_

_**launchcritfails:** Wtf no she’s not good enough for you_

_**Kai_wai_33:** Why’s she so short_

_**Pittycat222:** You both deserve all the happiness xoxox with love from Partali_

_**Foxholesareforchumps:** Ugh really?? That’s who you’re with now? Gross._

_**lai-san-63: **Stop with the negativity holy shit just be happy for her!_

As the comments continue to pour in, the Siren shrugs. “About what I expected.”

Moze peers at the screen. Watching the endless stream of discussion, she frowns, annoyed. “Wow. Some of these people _suck_.”

“They do.” Amara agrees. “But you get used to it. Welcome to fame.”

“Huh? I’m not famous.” 

To which Amara laughingly replies, “Oh, baby bear. You are _now.”_


	22. Steam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Request: Mozara but shower sex? 👀👀👀👀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: NSFW Mozara. Ethereal/Phase Strap-on. Rough sex. Vaginal Penetration.

As a young Siren, the first thing Amara learned to manifest was a single hand. She was in the middle of a scrap with a schoolyard bully when the ethereal appendage burst forth from the center of her chest. It broke the bully’s composure - along with their nose - and guaranteed they never bothered Amara again.

With study and focus, meditation and patience, she soon discovered she could manifest more than just one hand: she could create _six._ Six blue, floating hands with arms to match. And while her physical strength continued to grow, so did her Phase abilities. Those extra limbs were now nimble, capable, _useful._

And eventually, it made her wonder, what else could she create? 

“Wanna see a trick?” Amara winks at her girlfriend, takes a deep breath, and concentrates. Briefly, her tattoos glow a little brighter, her eyes flash violet, until - 

Moze gasps; it’s equal parts shock and intrigue. “Holy_ shit!_” Reaching out, she pauses. “Can I?”

“Go ahead.”

Carefully, she grasps the thick, ethereal phallus. Moze is pleased to find it’s warm to the touch, fits nicely in her palm. Sudden arousal blooms hot, and she smirks. “You gonna fuck me with it?”

The Siren grins, lascivious. “I certainly plan to.”

Warm water runs down Amara’s side, falls around her feet. Pale, blue light suffuses the tiny shower stall, painting the two women with its bio-luminescent filter. With the aid of her ethereal hands, Amara holds Moze against one wall. Legs around Amara’s waist, the Gunner’s crossed her ankles at the small of the Siren’s back, wrapped her arms around her neck. 

Amara rolls her hips, the ethereal cock slips inside of her, and Moze keens, desperate. So big, it’s _so_ big, but somehow just right. It stretches her cunt to the point of painful perfection and _oh god_ she’s never wanted anything so much in her life. 

“Tell me.” Even for Amara, her tone is low, husky, _demanding._

And Moze knows this game, is happy to play along. “Fuck me, _please._”

Gripping the Gunner’s thighs, Amara thrusts, once, twice, three times to find her rhythm. Already, Moze is shaking, moaning, her composure completely shattered. She attempts to angle, to grind her clit on Amara’s pelvis. The Siren intuits the motion, adjusts her stance. With that comes a new kind of bliss - bright and prurient and absolutely divine - and Moze can’t help her wail.

“_Amara_ \- !”

She is relentless, her Siren, and Moze belongs to her entirely. Like this, filled and mercilessly fucked, her desire builds, and builds, the delicious tension winding tighter and tighter. The falling water, her mewling cries, the obscene sounds of flesh on flesh: it all echoes in the small space, nearly drowns out Amara’s words. 

“Will you come for me?”

_Yes yes fuck yes I will!_

But the unspoken answer is insufficient. Amara growls, sinks her teeth into the soft skin of Moze’s neck. Pain, beautiful and terrible, saturates and grounds her. Helps the Gunner find her voice. “Oh, _god! _Fuck -_ yes!”_

“Then let me _hear _you.”

Moze gasps, clenches. The ethereal cock fills her over and over, and she’s close so close _so close_. Amara drives into her, almost too much yet not quite enough. But her Siren is giving, knows exactly what she needs: thrusts up hard, once, applies steady, persistent pressure to her clit and finally, _finally,_ Moze is gone.

At last, release. Pleasure, overwhelming and spectacular, slams into her, steals her breath and sense. Her sobs of ecstasy are loud, shameless, and she doesn’t try to temper them. Amara is patient, waits for coherence to return before releasing her to her feet. 

Overstimulated, exhausted, Moze is on shaky legs when the Siren directs her to stand beneath the water. Gone are the ethereal limbs, and so as Amara tenderly washes her girlfriend, it’s her own, brown hands that soothe sore muscles and brush over bruises; the purpling bite mark she blesses with a single, chaste kiss.

They’re dried and dressed and back in Amara’s private quarters when the Siren asks, “Are you alright?” 

Taking a deep breath, Moze nods. “Yeah. That was just… “

But, as usual, Amara’s perceptive. “You’ve never been fucked like that before.”

_“Nope.”_

“Would you like to do it again, sometime?”

_“Yep.”_

“Then we will.”


	23. Blue Screen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Request: How about a follow-up to my last Fl4k request where they DO get to feel a sensory data overdrive? Pretty please??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: NSFW FL4K/Gender Neutral Reader. Handjob. Humor.
> 
> Alternate Title: FL4K.exe has encountered a critical error and must restart.

When you enter their quarters unannounced, FL4K turns, silently studies you. “You want to do it again.” It’s a statement, not a question.

How did they - nevermind. “Are you OK with that?”

The AI stands to their full height, forcing you to look up to maintain eye contact. “Certainly. You enjoyed our previous attempt. Shall I get the appendage?” Before you can answer, they’re heading for a storage locker. 

“Actually, I wanted to focus on you this time!” Your words come out all in a rush, and you cringe. Did that sound desperate? You don’t want to sound desperate.

They continue their search. “Focus on me?“

“Yeah. Since you didn’t… Um - ”

“Ah-ha! Here it is.” The box has a few dents, but inside the XP20SS is unharmed. FL4K removes it. 

“Last time, you called it something specific, but I was hoping maybe…” Why is this so hard? FL4K lacks the ability to experience the distinctly human emotion known as shame. If they’re not embarrassed, why should you be? You just need to spit out.

But they beat you to it.

“You wish to give me an orgasm.” Leave it to the analytical mind of an android to boil it down to the essentials.

“I… Yes.”

“Then you shall.”

——

It’s different this time; you have a plan. Instead of climbing onto FL4K’s lap, or attempting a blow job, you kneel on the floor between their legs, flick open a bottle of lube, and squeeze some of the viscous fluid onto one palm. Your wish to concentrate on their pleasure was sincere, and this was the one thing you knew would absolutely satisfy that desire.

Wrapping your lube-slicked hand around the phallus, you slowly run up and down the length. The AI watches with keen interest, but doesn’t react; you expect this. FL4K’s previous participation was limited, in part due to the newness of the encounter, but also because their attention was fixed entirely on you. That’s not the case now, so you prompt them for feedback.

“Tell me if you don’t like it. Or if you _do.”_

Processing. You can tell they’re processing. Can read it in the tilt of their head, the way their green eye focuses and unfocuses. “This sensation is pleasant.” They pause, process some more. “My sensors indicate… You should go faster.”

Hmmm, that’s new. You obey the request, gradually increase your movement until you find a smooth, steady rhythm. The lube means there’s little friction, and your hand glides effortlessly along the shaft of the robotic cock. When you reach the tip, you pass your thumb over the head, and at that, the AI _does _react, but not in a way you anticipated.

_“If the water pressure to the reverse osmosis system is less than 40 to 60 psi - “_

Wait, what? Are those instructions? Maybe you should - 

_“Actus non facit reum nisi mens sit rea. Nemo igitur vir magnus sine aliquo adflatu divino umquam fuit.”_

OK, that wasn’t even English. Are they malfunctioning? _Can_ they malfunction? “FL4K, should I - ”

But they don’t let you finish. “Nnn - nnn - nnn -_ no!_ Don’t stop - don’t don’t don’t don’tdon’tdon’t - ddddddd - “

Suddenly, a familiar tone issues from the AI and they slump backwards. Terrified, you pull away, call their name, but get no response. Wipe your still slick hand across the bunk’s coverlet, grab for FL4K’s shoulders. You attempt to shift them, but holy_ shit_ they’re heavy, and all you can really manage is a small shake.

“FL4K! FL4K, can you hear me?!”

Nothing. 

God_damnit!_ Did you really just break your robotic partner with a_ handjob?!_

“Oh, for fuck’s - FL4K. _C’mon!” _

With a jerk, they sit forward and you jump back. For a moment, their green eye flickers blue, but they blink three times in rapid succession and the color returns to normal. They look at you, down at the phallus, then back to you, again. 

“I have experienced data overload equivalent.”

_“Huh?”_ Not your most articulate response, but given what just happened it’s all you can muster.

“Orgasm. I have achieved orgasm.”

_Oh!_ Well, that’s a relief. “Did uh, did you enjoy it?”

“It was very intense. I understand why humans are so fixated on the experience.” They get to their feet. “Would you like me to ‘return the favor,’ as they say?”

But your previous arousal was shattered when the AI lost consciousness, and you shake your head. “I’m good, thanks. Ya know next time, we should probably prop you up against something. You’re _really _heavy.”

“Yes.” FL4K agrees. “Tritanium is extraordinarily dense. It would be unwise for us to attempt missionary position; I could crush you to death.”

You laugh at the mental image. Turns out romance isn’t dead, it’s just got a metallic exoskeleton.

“Thanks for the warning, FL4K.”

“You’re welcome.”


	24. Too Hot (hot damn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Request: So what about the first time Moze and Amara smash and Moze is just like drooling over Amara’s hot bod lmao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: NSFW Mozara. Stream of consciousness. Mentions of cunnilingus, and vaginal penetration. Moze literally canNOT because Amara is TOO HOT.

[Oh fuck oh fuck oh _fuck _oh_ FUCK _we’re kissing it’s h a p p e n i n g. What do I do with my hands?! Goddamnit, where do I put them!? C’mon, dumbass, you’ve done this before! So what if it’s been a long time and it was dark and none of the other women looked… like…_ her -_

OK. Ooook. It’s cool. I’m cool. Just be - wow, she’s um… Shit, she’s really hot. Those abs - and the legs - and her arms - and… hnnng -

She’s taking off her top! Aaaaand there’s her tits. Fuck, they’re beautiful. I wanna touch ‘em. Should I touch ‘em? I should touch ‘em.

There go the pants. _Ugh_ her ass is _perfect! _But of course it’s perfect! _All _of her is perfect! Panties gone, too.Why am I not surprised her cunt is as pretty as the rest of her? I’m gonna put my face between her legs until I can’t breathe -

Wonder if she’d crush me with her thighs while I eat her pussy. Just take me out right now. Cause I could die here and be perfectly fucking happy about it.

If she doesn’t quit _teasing_ me with her fingers I’m gonna fucking SCREAM - 

_\- ohgodyes_ there please fuck _yes that’s what I want! fuck me please Amara please godDAMNIT - ]_

Amara’s mouth moves and sounds fall out. Logic tells Moze those sounds are words, but it’s difficult to process anything other than the realization she just had incredible sex with one of the most attractive women in the six galaxies. How the hell did she get so lucky? There’s millions of planets, billions of stars, and yet the Siren is here. In bed. With _her._

Eventually, the Gunner finds her voice. “Congrats, you broke me.”

When Amara laughs, it’s beautiful, genuine. “Not permanently, I hope.” She smiles, runs fingers across the sensitive skin of Moze’s bare breasts.

“Wh - why's that? ” Unable to resist, Moze arches to the touch.

“Mmhmm. I was looking forward to round two.”

_Round two?! _The woman is trying to kill her, Moze is sure of it. But already, the familiar warmth of arousal is pooling low in her belly, and she knows she’s as good as gone.

Amara’s smile turns wolfish. “So, what do you say soldier?”

“Heh. _Hell yeah_.”

“Good answer.”


	25. Get Along Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Request: Somewhat short fic where Zane starts singing "Happy Together" and somehow gets the other Vault Hunters to join in. (Inspired by the trailer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: SFW Mozara. Fluff and feels and silliness with a touch of angst

As far as ideas go, Zane can admit he’s had better. There was the one with the impromptu Molotov cocktail; it set off a chain reaction of explosions, thus toppling a well guarded COV propaganda tower. Or the time he distracted a group of cultists with dirty limericks, buying himself and his fellow Vault Hunters the precious minutes they needed to escape. The Operative often flies by the seat of his pants - and dammit, he’s _good_ at it - so realistically speaking it shouldn’t be that hard to come up with -

Hang on.

“Ah, ya handsome bastard. Knew you’d figure it out.”

——-

On the bridge of Sanctuary, Zane leans on the counter adjacent to Balex, pokes the pink teddy bear in the side. 

“Heeeey, boyo. Think you could do me a favor?”

“Sure, man. Sure. Always got time for a friend. What you need?”

He knew he rescued that AI for a reason. “Alright, in _exactly_ twelve minutes - “

——

Lights? Check. Position? Check. Music…?

_Imagine me and you, I do -_

Check.

_I think about you day and night, it’s only right -_

Zane jumps from the poker table in the middle of the common area, sticks the landing, and heads for door number one. 

_“To think about the girl you love, and hold her tight. So happy togetherrrr - “_

Bangs twice. Waits for Amara to answer. She appears, her initial moue of disdain shifting to confusion when she sees Zane.

“What do you - ?“

But he doesn’t let her finish, grabs her hand, sweeps her off to door number two. 

_“If I should call you up, invest a dime. And you say you belong to me and ease my mind. Imagine how the world could be, so very fine - “_

He kicks three times, and it opens instantly. Moze scowls, attempts to protest, but again he refuses to allow it, has her by the hand and in the hall before she can escape.

_“So happy togetherrrr!”_

In unison, both women complain -

“What the hell, dude?!”

“Flynt! Of all the asinine - “

And the Operative sings right over them -

_“I can’t see me loving nobody but you, for all my liiiiiife. When you’re with me baby the skies’ll be blue, for all my liiii - erugh!“ _An ethereal hand wraps around Zane’s neck, choking out the last note.

Done with this charade, Amara jerks him forward, growls through clenched teeth, “Explain yourself._ Now.”_

The world’s gone a funny shade of white by the time she releases him, and Zane doubles over to cough, gulp down big lungfuls of air. Is he being a wee bit melodramatic? Maybe. But he couldn’t give a shite. 

“It’s yer own fault! None of us can take yer bickerin’!” He coughs some more, sweeps an accusatory finger between her and Moze. “You’re both miserable, and it’s makin’ the lot of us miserable, _too! _So do everyone a favor: knock off the fightin’ and get back to smoochin’!” 

_\- me and you, and you and me. No matter how we toss the dice, it had to be. The only one for me is you, and you for me. So happy together -_

Stunned to silence, the two women exchange apologetic glances. It’s Moze who breaks first.

“I’m sorry, Tiger.”

Amara nods, extends a hand to her girlfriend. When their fingers intertwine, she smiles. “I am, too.” 

Relieved, Zane rolls his eyes. “Wonderful! Now, was that so _fecking_ hard?! Jaysus, I need a pint… ”

_-so happy together _

_Happy together _

_So happy together_

_So happy together (ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba)…_


	26. Love Thyself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr and AO3 Request: Hfffff more Zane smut pleeeeeeaassseeee? (combined with) Zane/Digiclone request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: NSFW Zane/Digiclone. Mentions of oral sex, anal sex. Masturbation. Dirty talk.

Zane isn’t sure how much of his personality is programmed into the clone, but he _does _know it’s corporeal enough to touch, punch and occasionally fuck. A discovery made one evening while very bored (and very drunk), he’d brought the clone out with the intention of playing a game of cards, or maybe knocking back a few pints before bed. Instead, they wound up in his room sucking face, and then each other. One thing led to another, and before he knew it he was balls deep in himself, and on the receiving end of a reach around. Sure, it was kind of strange, but it was also _exhilarating,_ and the Operative had no qualms with repeating the little experiment. ****

Pressing the responder’s button, Zane summons his clone. When it appears beside the bunk, he tosses it a half-empty bottle of lube, nods at the erection in his fist. “Help a feller out, would ya?” Not that the clone can talk, but he speaks to it just the same

At the instruction, the clone squirts some of the viscous fluid into its palm, swats away Zane’s hand, replaces it with its own. Through its blue, translucent fingers, Zane watches while it slowly moves up and down the length of his cock. When it reaches the tip, it does the thing Zane likes - runs its thumb up and over the head - and he sucks air through his teeth.

“Oooh, _yes._ Thaaaat’s good.” He groans, rolls his hips in time to meet the clone on the downstroke.

What was he thinking about? He can’t remember, because the only thing he can focus on, the only thing that matters, is the sweet grip on his cock, the bright swell of bliss when the clone increases its speed. Doesn’t even have to tell it what to do, or when to do it. And why would he? It’s him after all - at least, a part of him - and he knows what he likes better than anyone else in the six galaxies.

Unable to resist the spectacle, Zane watches, rapt as the clone fucks him, strokes him with purpose. The simmering pressure builds in his balls and he moans, loud and lurid, when he feels the delicious pulse of pleasure. He knows he’s close, and he lets loose a string of filth.

“Fffuuck, _yes!_ Right there - ah, fuck me - gods_damnit_ \- !” Growling, his hips stutter and buck, lose their rhythm. “Fuck - _fuck_ \- don’t stop! I’m gonna fucking come!” 

No longer certain if he’s talking to himself or the clone, Zane throws his head back, arcs off the bunk. The slick sounds, the aching, prurient tension, the promise of impending climax, it all combines, coalesces to a single, salacious point and then - 

Release, pure and perfect; it consumes him, drowns him. Maybe there’s words among the beautiful chaos, but he can’t be sure. When he finds himself again, he opens his eyes (when did he close them?) to meet his mirror image, and its self-satisfied smirk. 

He laughs. “Proud of yer handiwork there, boyo?”

Which is exactly when the clone vanishes. Unbeknownst to Zane, it had been careful to contain the come in its hand, and the wet mess lands on his now half-hard cock, slides down, drips on the blanket beneath him. 

At that, the Operative sighs and reaches for a towel. “S’pose it’s well deserved.”

Next time, he figures, he’ll just come in its mouth, instead.


End file.
